


Human, A JohnKat Fic

by childishPoultrylord



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Domestic Gay-Marrieds being Domestic and Gay-Married, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:50:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childishPoultrylord/pseuds/childishPoultrylord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After they won the game, the new universe turned out to be the human's old one, reconstructed, and the remaining trolls found themselves in new, human bodies. They all moved on with their lives, and Karkat finally got John to pity/fall in love/marry him.</p><p>The problem is that Karkat still has some issues to work out, and is hungry. Mostly, hungry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human, A JohnKat Fic

Karkat was hungry.

Karkat was dissatisfied with the soft pink (his was a dark brown, actually, but humans were red meat, so pink is what he still called it, because that was obviously an inferior color) flesh of the human body. Karkat was dissatisfied with being _human_. Karkat missed the days where he was a strong and powerful troll, far superior to this weak pink-fleshed body, with its weird anatomy and biology and there were just things that it had that a troll body didn't (sex-specific genitals, for one), and even though it was similar enough in its trolloid construction, every once and a while he would forget that he was a human and try to kill something with his claws or expect his tough (and, most importantly, the ever-familiar, wonderful gray) troll skin would save him from cuts and bruises that his stupid, inferior, _human_ body just seemed to collect with hardly even a gentle brush of a whisper of a puff of a soft, gentle breeze.

But mostly, Karkat was hungry.

John (still human; still bucktoothed; still windy. Still alive.) picked up on Karkat's mood, and pressed a handful of green paper bills into his palm, commanding his now brown-skinned human – _“Troll, Karkat, I know. I get it. Yes.”_ – husband to walk down to the Subway down the street and buy them sandwiches to eat. Karkat knew exactly where the Subway restaurant was, and was sure the only reason why John said “down the street” was so that he could rhyme it with eat. John was infuriating – _“Karkat, to you, everything is infuriating.”_ – like that. Karkat took the paper _human_ money to go down to the human restaurant to buy them _human_ sandwiches so that he could satiate his stupid, infuriating(!), _human_ hunger.

Karkat did not bother to change out of his baggy, weathered, warm pajama pants to walk down to the gas station that housed the Subway, though he did put on a windbreaker to protect the meager sensibilities of the humans at the gas station; the fact that it warded off the chilly Autumn air was a bonus. He kicked on a broken and worn pair of what once might have been soft-leather loafers, tucked his hands in his pockets, and made his way out the door and down the street, not giving John the parting peck on the lips that John had been puckering up for to punctuate the fact that he was _infuriated_ and would not tolerate the soft, pink _human's_ mocking.

Karkat really hated being human.

Okay, he didn't hate being human, but it was really inconvenient.

It was different.

It was weird.

It was lonely.

Karkat found himself wondering, as he often did, how the other trolls, the remaining (humanized) members of his (extinct) race, were fairing. After everything went down, before they entered their new (somehow, the human's old, albeit reconstructed) universe, the remaining trolls were down to himself, Terezi, and Kanaya. The human children somehow came out lossless and unscathed. Maybe that's what Karkat hated most about being human.

He was jealous.

The human children never experienced loss like they had, like he had. They didn't know what it was like to have your friends hunted down and slaughtered by one of your own, to have nearly all of them obliterated by the terrifying god-being that had been Jack Noir. They just sailed by on their weak, pink luck, a resource that they apparently had more of in any one of them than Vriska had had in her entire god-hood, had had in even her dice.

That wasn't true. Karkat knew that. The kids had indeed experienced loss, the loss of their equally lucky and surprisingly resourceful lusus-humans. Parents. Human parents. Parent-figure, in Dave's case. Even then, Karkat felt like it wasn't a fair trade. He knew that his jealousy was unwarranted, but it was something that just was. The jealousy was there, and he couldn't let it go.

It just wasn't fucking fair. Why did everyone have to leave him? Why did Dave and Rose steal Terezi and Kanaya away from him?

  
  
_The humans got their entire universe back._   


  
_He couldn't even have his friends._   


Karkat could feel the (clear, water-based, _human_ ) tears well in his eyes, and they obstructed his view. With a sobbing yelp of surprise and pain, he bumped head-first into the glass door of the gas station, and with practiced ease, stuffed away all signs of distress. To everyone in the gas station, he was regular, grimacing, pissed off, _human_ Karkat, not the real, crying, lonely troll that he really was. The ladies behind the counter gave him a wave/nod 2xcombo that Karkat acknowledged with a nod of his own as he walked up to the counter, and began shuffling the halting crab-walk that was the Subway line, always facing the plexi-glass sneeze protectors, hands always hovering around waist level. Bread? Step. Meat? Step. Cheese? Step. Toast it? Step. Veggies? Point. Point. Step. Dressing? Step. Wrap it up, and with one more step, he found himself standing in front of the cash register, handing the bills over to the sandwich woman, pocketing the change. Oops, make that a meal. No, just one, please.

He took the cup and the bag of sandwiches, and filled it with the cola/diet cola combination of soda pop that John drank. He bundled everything in his arms, and grabbed the bag of chips that came with the meal as he walked out the door, leaving no free hand to push it open. So, instead of asking for help or setting something in his arms down, or even pushing it open with a shoulder, he turned his back to the door, and pushed with his butt, because that was the simplest and most convenient way to go about things. At first, there was no issue, but then he discovered something peculiar about the doors that the gas station used: there was a lever just below the panel that proclaimed in bold, over-spaced letters “P U S H.” A lever that, combined with its middling position on the door and Karkat's short stature, found its way right into the pocket of Karkat's baggy, weathered, warm pajama pants. Karkat did not notice the lever until, as he finally started to push away from the door, the lever tugged at his baggy, weathered, warm pajama pocket. Even then, he didn't really acknowledge it as he continued to walk away from the door.

Then he felt the sudden jerk as the door fought to keep him in the gas station, and he would have kept his balance but for the silent tearing of the worn cloth of his pajamas. He found himself rushing towards a brief and painful make-out session with the concrete sidewalk, and brought his arms up to cushion the blow.

His very full arms.

The same arms that were too full to push open the door.

The arms that were still filled with the sandwiches and beverage that he did not bother to cast away from him as he started to fall.

As he lay on the concrete sidewalk, a bruise already welling on the side of his face, his torso bathed in ice-cold soda and his chest cushioned by the crushed remains of his and John's sandwiches, he felt the last of his dwindling dignity blow away with wind as he felt cold Autumn air blow against his bare, dark brown, pink-fleshed, human ass. His face dragging against the concrete, he curled himself into a fetal position as he heard people inside and outside the gas station gasp and react and move to help him, and Karkat began to cry.

Not the stifled sobs and halted tears of “oh no, this is so embarassing.” Not the silent waterfall of, “oh, this story is so sad, let's watch.”

Karkat began to cry the long, keening wails and choked screaming sobs of someone who is hurt, who has been beaten and broken and repaired and broken again and is afraid and lonely, oh so lonely, and who has finally reached the last straw, and he just broke down, sobbing on the pavement. Someone pulled him upright, and he clung to them, crying and crying and crying. He heard the concerned murmurings of the people around him, but he couldn't register any meaning from the words. His nerves were fried, his brain was fried, his emotions were fried, and all he could do is scream and cry and cry and sob and scream and sob and cry, and he was cold, and his ass was colder, and he was wet and the Autumn air blew right through him and it just made things worse, and then he felt warm, familiar arms around him, and he heard the gentle, whistling “shoosh,” that could only be from John and his infuriating buck-teeth, and John just hugged Karkat to him and rocked him, shooshing and shooshing the distraught former troll, comforting him. Comforting Karkat. Comforting his lover, his husband. Comforting his friend. Letting his Karkat, lover, husband, friend know that even though that right here, right now, it's only the two of them, at least it's the two of them, and not the one of them. Letting Karkat know that John was still there to hold him, to listen to him and to talk to. Letting Karkat know that John was there to love him, was loving him, and would always love him. Letting Karkat know that despite all the shit the universe has thrown at him, he's still come out on top every time, beaten to shit, bloody, bruised, maimed, but overall victorious.

  


Somehow Karkat found himself waking up in their bed, and John's warm, loving body pressed up against him. Karkat felt empty. Drained. Exhausted. He nearly fell back asleep before John's arms tightened around him, squeezing him in a lovey-dovey stupid, husbandly, absolutely wonderful good-morning hug. Karkat wasn't exactly sure what time it was, but the it was the sentiment that mattered.

“Hey, Karkat. How're you feeling?” John's voice was the groggy whisper of the recently awoken. Karkat found himself twisting over to face John.

“Better,” Karkat whispered to him. John smiled and hugged Karkat tighter, burying his nose against Karkat's black, black hair.

“What happened, this morning?” Though Karkat was sure that it was somewhere in the mid-afternoon that he had had his episode, he didn't bother spoiling their “moment” by correcting John with minor details.

“Just,” Karkat began, but paused at the expectant look in John's eyes. He wanted to tell John of his issues, of his problems, of his burning jealousy of John and the other humans, but there was something in John's eyes that Karkat didn't want to burn away with the damage he knew his pent-up feelings would do. “It was nothing.” John's face called bullshit on Karkat's lie, but John didn't push any further. He snaked his arms up around Karkat's back, and ruffled Karkat's black hair with both hands, and kissed his head.

“Later, okay?” Karkat nodded, and as John's ruffling turned to scalp-massaging, Karkat let out a chest-rumbling groan of pleasure as he relaxed against John. John giggled and scratched more as Karkat continued to groan, stretching and moving his neck and head to press as much of his scalp into John's fingers as possible.

“You sound like you're purring.” John let out an, “oof!” of surprise and amusement as Karkat gave him a playful punch to the kidney. “How's your face doing?” Karkat hadn't thought of about that. It was sore. He didn't care right now.

“Mm.”

“How's your head? Any headache?” If there was, it had disappeared under the careful ministrations of John's fingers.

“Mm.”

“How's your butt?” Suddenly, there was only one hand scratching Karkat's head, and Karkat let out a yelp of surprise as the other found itself goosing Karkat's buttock. Karkat glared, shocked, angry, pissed off by John's playful grin. That's when he realized they were both naked, and were both pressed front to front, and it was getting pretty obvious what John was getting at with his playful grope.

“Why don't you come and find out, you stupid, scruffy, long-haired action hero. You saved me from distress, you swept me off my feet, what's next in this shitty rom-com set-up? The hero ge-” Karkat's unnecessarily wordy and admittedly un-sexy, though romantic in only the way that Karkat has, was silenced by a swift and passionate kiss from a thoroughly aroused and entirely amused John. “Oh, Mr. Poe, I am your estranged wife and now we passionately reunite. Ravish me, you ham-acted stud! What shall we do, now that I am in your hairy, muscular arms!” Karkat thought that it was his over-acted, dramatic, cheesy lines that made John smile, but then John grabbed Karkat's ass in such a way that suddenly John was pressed between Karkat's cheeks, eliciting a sudden, pleased gasp of surprise from his dark-skinned husband. He kissed a line along Karkat's jaw, and Karkat smiled and pressed into it. When John reached Karkat's ear, he pulled back a little, so that he could whisper.

“I'm going to put the bunny back in the box.”

Karkat gasped and yelled at John, pushing and kicking the buck-toothed wonder off the bed, tangled up in sheets and pillows, but John couldn't stop laughing. “You stupid fucking nook-whiffing bulge-reek of a fucking piece of shit, you are the single greatest bonerkill in the existence of three universes and the entirety of Paradox Space, and whatever made me stupid enough to think pitying you was a good idea, I seriously hope that it was poiso-”

Karkat's ranting was silenced by John's mouth once again, and Karkat rather forgot his anger as he silently took back his words that John was the “single greatest bonerkill,” and modified the statement to “single greatest boner.”

“I love you, Karkat. I really do. Don't ever doubt that.”

“I don't, you dumbass. I fucking pity the shit out of you, and I might even have symptoms of your stupid human love-disease. It appears to be contagious. I should have been vaccinated.”

“Love isn't a disease, nun-nunts.”

“Dunkass.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Shut up and fuck me.”

John happily obliged Karkat's demands, and any coherent thought quickly degenerated into lustful rutting thereafter.

  


The End.

**Author's Note:**

> A cute little one-shot that reveals my secret desire that human Karkat be from Sout/South-east Asia, at least in body type/skin color.
> 
> Also, my first post to Ao3! Woo!
> 
> EDIT:  
> Jesus sweet fucking Christ holy shit I finally got the god damn thing to format properly it kept having new paragraphs before and after every italicised word/section of words, and it gave this weird, staccato feel to it that, though not entirely objectionable, was definitely not what I had been going for when I wrote it. So yeah! Woo! Got it fixed so it reads properly. Woohoo!


End file.
